Die nackten Tatsachen

This movie seems to have a lot going for it. The stunning photography of gorgeous Los Angeles; a charming theme song by The Byrds; two of the most beautiful women you could imagine , Sharon Tate and Claudia Cardinale; plus some funny folk in supporting roles. Strangely it misses. It just goes on and on with no laffs, and no particular purpose. Sharon , As in The wrecking Crew, proves she had great potential in comedy, and is so gorgeous you want to see more of her. So I would recommend this movie only for Sharon Tate fans. If you arent a fan, you will be disapointed as there is really nothing else here worthwhile. I waited to see the movie for a long time, and felt ripped off.

New Yorker Carlo Cofield (Tony Curtis) is driving in southern California. He encounters flighty Italian Laura Califatti (Claudia Cardinale) who accidentally sets his car on fire destroying all his worldly possessions. He asks for her insurance but she offers a place to stay instead. Her patron Rod Prescott (Robert Webber) shows up and kicks him out. Carlo is forced to sleep on the beach and Malibu (Sharon Tate) saves him from drowning. He pushes his way into Prescott's company as the high priced pool salesman. He also discovers that Prescott is married to Diane (Joanna Barnes). He schemes to break up Malibu from her muscle bound boyfriend Harry.

I don't really like Carlo. The world is transitioning outside. The muscle beach concept is a little fun if a little silly. This feels like two stories smashed into one. I think Carlo as a fish out of water in the California beach lifestyle holds good possibilities. As for the other half with Cardinale and Webber, that should be the love triangle if that's the story for the movie. The movie needs to cut out one side or the other. The combination becomes a mess. Also, Carlo schemes too much for my liking for the lead. I don't want him to end up with anyone. Overall, I don't find much funny in this comedy.

A very flaky comedy, a perplexing mix of moods involving Southern California hustler Tony Curtis with an accident prone actress, her married lover, and an assortment of beach bums and bunnies. A curiously lackadaisical pace, an almost dream-like non-focus, and the blithe, throwaway performances don't especially give the proceedings an edge, but they do help the movie stand out from other films in this genre. But what genre is it exactly? It isn't a laugh-out loud comedy, it isn't a character study, it isn't brainless but neither is it particularly witty. Just an occasional big laugh, and it certainly looks good. Sharon Tate gets an "introducing" credit, just as she did on "Eye Of The Devil" released the year before. Her role as "Malibu" is utterly undemanding, but still it's nice to see her having fun. ** from ****

"Don't Make Waves" -- is it an attempt at an mature beach movie? A spoof of beach movies? A midlife crisis movie? A Tony Curtis-as-middle-aged-hustler movie?

Tony Curtis plays a not-so-young man whose life is ruined and all his earthly belongings destroyed by an accident prone mistress (Cardinale) of an obnoxious pool magnate (Webber). Curtis worms his way into the pool company -- apparently not to wreak revenge (or is it) but just to get ahead. On the way he picks up a cute sky-diving obsessed young woman (Tate -- who unfortunately has become a curiosity piece in the few movies she lived to make) who was also being sought out by a good-hearted and dull-witted Muscle Beach type (Drake).

The characters wind confusingly through each others lives until they come to a climax that needs better special effects than they had in 1967, and then the movie ends abruptly.

The movie shows lots of potential trying to get out. There are many good ideas thrown out. Some lie flaccid after being thrown out, others are merely thrown out and left to die.

The cast is full of surprises: Mort Sal as a wry house salesman, Edgar Bergen as a fortune teller, Jim Backus (as wife) as themselves, being hustled by Curtis into buying a pool! And this also proves how the movie went wrong. Edgar Bergen had a charming persona in his act, which (for those of you who don't remember) as a ventriloquist -- on the radio, no less. Instead of playing to his charming persona, they cast him as a waspish old man; and instead of playing on his ventriloquism to make the character wacky, they ignore it completely. They shoehorned a man with special talents into a part that could have been played by any competent actor, and which should have been played as a gift cameo part for someone who would pull out all the comedic stops (say,Paul Lynde?)

Pluses include the Vic Mizzy sound, and the fact that, and the obvious fact that none of the actors take the material seriously, except for Robert Webber, whom no one seems to have told was in a comedy. It's a movie that one watches the way one eats sour cream and onion potato chips if one doesn't like sour cream. The taste both repels and attracts. It's movies like this that ensured the decline of Tony Curtis' career.

This is one of a multitude of sex comedies Tony Curtis starred in around this time in his career; incidentally, I had seen about half of it some years back (also on Italian TV) but had to abort the viewing due to a bad reception!

Anyway, if the film is at all remembered today, it is primarily for two reasons: it not only marked the cinematic swan song of a great director, but was also the official Hollywood introduction of the beguiling but ill-fated Sharon Tate. Two more (if lesser) claims to fame should be the undeniably funny Chaplinesque ‘house-teetering-on-the-edge-of-a-cliff’ climax and the fact that leading rock band The Byrds perform the film’s rather charmingly light title tune.

Patchy and somewhat hesitant overall, it is nonetheless engaging and occasionally delightful; the satirical barbs aimed at L.A.’s muscle beach mentality (especially David Draper, the amiably moronic blonde hulk who is Tate’s boyfriend), the then-current astrological fad and businessmen indulging in extramarital activities often hit the target – even if with a much blunter edge than in Mackendrick’s previous film with Curtis, SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS (1957). Two other lively highlights of the film are the initial ‘meeting cute’ between Curtis and leading lady Claudia Cardinale (in which, as he tells her himself, she inadvertently manages to ruin his whole life in 30 seconds flat!) and the potentially disastrous sky-diving stunt performed by Tate and (unexpectedly) Curtis, which ends with both of them landing in his newly-inaugurated pool.

The film does benefit from a workmanlike cast: Curtis is in good form as an opportunistic young man who, while being compulsively pursued by the accident-prone Cardinale, becomes hopelessly infatuated with luscious, free-spirited beach girl Sharon Tate (her effortlessly sensual slow-motion exercises on the beach early in the film are quite disturbing to watch now when one realizes that she would die so horribly in less than two years’ time); Robert Webber is a swimming pool company executive driven to his wits’ end by lover Cardinale and the blackmailing schemes of Curtis, who soon shows his salesmanship skills by selling a pool to Jim “Mr. Magoo” Backus (playing himself) and a celebrity fortune-teller with the unlikely name of Madame Lavinia (played by famed ventriloquist Edgar Bergen).

While it is undoubtedly Mackendrick’s least (i.e. most inconsequential) film – and could well have been the reason why he left the profession and went into teaching – it’s a tribute to his mostly unsung genius that the film is as enjoyable as it is despite the evident flaws.